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I like the concept
of self-checkout. I like having a DIY option,
just in case all the other lanes are filled with nearsighted little old ladies clutching
their checkbooks. For that reason alone,
self-checkout is a great idea.
It’s the public humiliation that usually ruins it for me.
Checking myself out is almost never faster than standing in
line and waiting patiently for a professional cashier, but I do it anyway. Just like I’ll always take the creative
detour around a traffic accident, even though I know it will take longer and be
a lot more aggravating.
It’s all about controlling my own destiny and self-determination.
A body in motion, especially an American one, is happier
than one standing in line. This is human
nature. This is why we pump our own gas,
hate Disney World, and get rip-roaring mad when we have to queue to vote.
Before self-checkout was invented, long lines were a free will buzz
kill. Sure we could buy as much ice
cream as we wanted, but it would melt before we could get it home.
So for better or for worse, self-checkout is here to stay.
They say that curiosity killed the cat and the tablet killed
the netbook. Will American ideals kill the cashier?
Maybe, maybe not...
What I like about self-checkout is that I get to play cashier
without having to actually take a minimum wage job. What I don’t
like about self-checkout is realizing that I’m totally unqualified to be a cashier.
Being a cashier is surprisingly difficult. Fruit and veggie codes are challenging - can
you say organic pomegranate? Coupon
rules are downright incomprehensible, and barcodes are hidden as if they’re pirate
treasure.
Grocery stores don’t place a limit on how many items you can
‘self’ checkout because the process itself is self-limiting. I can
handle about 4 things. After that it
gets all kinds of self-checkout ugly.
Even if I manage to ring the item up properly, I am never
swift enough to ‘PLACE ITEM IN
BAG!’ within
the .05 seconds allowed by the grocery store computer. I then
spend 10 minutes in handcuffs trying to convince the self-checkout warden that
I was NOT trying to steal that third lime.
Meanwhile, all the men in line glare at me like I’m frog
spawn. And yes, they are all men.
Self-checkout was, of course, created by guys, for
guys. Men are impatient and prefer
anonymity when shopping. They are
definitely NOT striking up a conversation or holding your place in line while
you run and get some milk. That’s
considered a hostile action.
For them, a visit to the grocery store is a black ops mission,
not a social occasion. Self-checkout is their communication and command
center. Don’t get in their way, speak
out of turn, or hold up the line.
The true brilliance of the self-checkout lane is that stores
are giving their guy customers exactly what
they think they want, saving money on staff, and reducing complaints about service. Guys are happy because they’ve reclaimed the freedom,
liberty and self-reliance that they thought they’d lost.
Good for them.
Self-checkout might be as American as Apple Pie and Call of
Duty, but I’ve pretty much gone back to the manned lane and my favorite
cashier. Call me un-American, or worse, a
Luddite, but self-determination is about having
choices, not about what you do with them.
Don’t be so quick to judge.
Someday there may be no cashiers at all, but until then, I
choose Veronica in lane twelve. I’m
pretty sure she doesn’t even own a pair of handcuffs, or if she does, she keeps
them at home where they belong.
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